A Certain Lust
by Dr. Beats
Summary: What if Hetalia existed in our world?
1. Chapter 1: All Fun and Games

Chapter 1: All Fun and Games

England scanned the script, his green eyes darting left and right as he hurriedly reviewed his lines. His eyes closed with annoyance as a voice cried "Hey England!" followed poking to the shoulder. "Now isn't the time to review lines!" America said as he finally stopped poking England only to rip the script from his hands. "Now is the time to get into character! I'm already getting into character!" America shouted flashing a huge smile. "I'm the hero!" he cried posing triumphantly.

"America, you play a patient at a mental institution." England sighed leaning back in his chair. "You fit perfectly." He added, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. What was said next was drowned out by the sound of Germany loudly drilling Italy on his part. "When are China and Japan going to be out of the practice room?" England thought casting his eyes for any signs of them. Germany had Italy dressed his costume to help him "understand" his character as he put it. Italy was wearing a white lacy dress and carrying a delicate white umbrella.

"Italy! " Germany shouted. "You're playing the part of a woman! Toughen up!" Italy cringed, hiding behind his umbrella as Germany continued lecturing him about his part. The only other one even thinking about their costume was France who was still trying to decide what to wear. England felt a tug on his sleeve, he reluctantly looked up from his script he had retrieved to see Sealand at which point he promptly buried his face in his script.

"Mr. England, Mr. England" England heard Sealand say as he kept tugging. Can I be in your play, the audience will love me?" As much as England hated to admit it the audience probably would like to see Sealand, and as their first live performance at a convention it had to be spot on.

"Okay." England said, reluctant to acknowledge Sealand, especially as a country. "Run across the stage acting like a child here." He said pointing to the script. "Now shoo." England stood up from his seat to get a drink for his throat when he was knocked back down by a fleeing Latvia.

"Stop running!" Russia called after him "That's not how it happens in the script!"

"J-j-just set down the knife the knife and use the prop one!" Latvia managed to choke out.

"It's not a murder scene unless you use a real weapon!" Russia said running after him.

"Bloody hell Russia be careful with that!" England cried after him.

"Oh, don't worry." said Russia stopping. "I'm in control of the knife at all times." he said, his aura darkening.

"That's what I'm worried about." England muttered trying to concentrate on the script.

"Oh England!" France called out from across the room. "What do you think a narrator should wear?"

"I don't care." England grumbled, his eyebrows knitting together. "Just wear something."

"Aw, but that was one of my best ideas." France said, giving a cheeky wink. "How is this?" he said ripping off his clothes to reveal a TSA uniform. "Alright England, are you ready for your pat-down?" France asked advancing toward England, hands outstretched. "It's for safety!"

"Bloody hell what are you doing?" England cried trying to evade France's groping hands.

"Don't try to escape, you know you love it!" France pedo-laughed, trying to wrap his arms around England. England pried France off and dragged him back to France's dressing room. "Oh England I didn't know we were there yet." France laughed as England threw him into his room. "Aren't you hot in those clothes? I know I am." France called from behind the door. "Don't you want to come in and cool off?"

"Just wear something and be out by showtime!" England shouted angrily at France's closed door. England walked out of the corridor that held the dressing rooms only to enter the chaos filled main room. Russia was pinning Latvia down and trying to stab him with the prop knife yelling

"Hold still, embrace the knife!" and taking another stab, the blade driving into the floor.

"R-r-Russia, calm down, be more gentle with the knife!" Latvia stammered.

"It's not sharp; I need to compensate for that!" he said stabbing again. America was loudly acting out his part while Sealand ran around trying his best to look like a kid. Germany loudly ranted at a cowering about how he should play his part. The vein in England's head bulged as his composure went out the window.

"Bloody hell! You're all a bunch of wankers! Focus!" England shouted stomping his foot on the ground, his face turning red

"Is he angry or exited?" America asked Germany, an underwhelmed look on both of their faces.

"It's impossible to tell with England" Germany replied. "He could be really happy for all we know."


	2. Chapter 2: The Dark Side of Heaven

Chapter 2: The Dark Side of Heaven

"It's showtime everybody, let's move!" England called out to the cast all of who were not in their costumes save France and Italy who were the only ones to appear for the first part. Even though France was only wearing his normal clothes and carrying a red rose he was the narrator and so he had some freedom in his choice of attire. France strode onstage, the rose pressed to his nose. He turned to the audience and began reciting his lines, the crowds' volume increasing from its already loud one. England mouthed the words from behind stage, out of sight of the crowd or anyone on the stage, worried that France might mess up. England grabbed Italy and pulled him to stage left, getting him ready for his entrance. As England dragged a terrified Italy to the stage edge he watched France give a sexy wink to the crowd as he gave the rose a little toss.

"Je t'aime!" France's sultry voice rang out over the audience as the place went totally silent. The rose was suspended at the height of its path, as though frozen in time. The fangirls surged toward the flower, their bodies forced together in their lust. They piled on top one another forming a mountain of bodies before the flower had had time to even fall. With the flower in the hands of the fangirls the mountains purpose was fulfilled and the fangirls slid off one another as the mound of bodies dispersed. Yet the motion continued. The fangirls still pushed forward toward the stage as if the flower was still there. They jumped up and down, their hands desperately grasping for France.

"Hmm." England chuckled, more out of relief than mirth. "Maybe we can pull this off with just our live appearance." England thought, gesturing for France to stay on stage a bit longer. The audience was loving him. "Say your optional lines!" England hissed as Italy whimpered in his left hand. With his lines finished France strutted off stage, the crowd clustering around the edge of the stage as if trying to follow him.

"Ah-hahahaha!" a plain male voice rang out over the crowd, now totally silent. "We have held our suffering inside for too long now." The voice echoed throughout the room, as everyone seemed to be holding their breath. "The scales shall now tip to our side. Let the time of great lust begin!" the fangirls screeched as if spurred on by the message. More people flowed in from the exits and entrances alike as they pressed toward the stage. France resumed his strut only to be stopped by objections from the audience.

"Don't leave us!" they called, desperate for France to stay. France turned to respond but hands reached over the edge of the stage and wrapped around France's feet, pulling him into the mob. With his feet ripped out from under him he fell, his head hitting the floor. As the mob engulfed him on the stage England thought he saw the faintest smile on France's face. The fangirls swarmed onto the stage, like a wave crashing on a beach.

"Run Italy" England breathed, the sound barely escaping his lips. But Italy was already out of England's grasp, dashing to the nearest exit. The fangirls swarmed around the fallen France, their hands groping around for just one touch and doing who knows what else. England took a step back, then another, a mix of shock and horror on his face. He turned, slightly reluctant to look away from the nightmarish scene taking place on the stage, and ran. The door to the main to the main room flew open as England burst through, running at top speed. Everyone looked up from what they were doing to stare at England, hands on knees, panting.

"What's wrong?" Sealand asked walking up to England.

"The fangirls are coming!" England panted. "Security will slow them down but they will be here soon! Run." America stood up

"It's alright." he said his voice solemn. "I'll stop them." The vein in England's head bulged as he stood upright.

"Don't you get it?" he said grabbing America by the collar of his shirt. "This isn't some sort of game that you can walk away from when you're done! This isn't about pride! Now go!" he yelled throwing America toward the exit. America stumbled as he hit the ground but then broke into a run and dashed out the door. Squealing and giggles sounded from the halls leading to the stage accompanied by the pounding of feet. The countries scrambled to get out of the room, driven by the sincerity in England's voice as they all tried to squash through the door. England was about to enter the fray when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned around to see Germany looking up at him from his chair, a serious look on his face.

"Where's Italy?" Germany asked, his usual unwavering voice fearful and unsure.

"He escaped but I don't know where he is." England replied, surprised by the question. "Now go." And with that Germany sprinted down the hall that only led deeper into the building. The fangirls rounded the corner at full speed, crashing into the wall and pouring into the room. England was already out of the room, sprinting down the hall with the torrent of fangirls at his heels. He spotted the other running up ahead and the heard a tumbling sound, Sealand flew out of the group of countries; he stumbled but regained his normal running pace just behind England. But he was starting to slow. 'Sealand!" England cried, slowing his pace and stretching out his hand. Sealand reached out to meet it; their fingers brushed together and fumbled around. The gap growing greater and greater as Sealand tired. England slowed more, trying to close the gap. Their hands fumbled around some more, then paused. Their eyes met. England's sure and determined eyes soothed the fear in Sealand's gave his eyes a little more hope. England's hand wrapped Sealand's small wrist, Sealand's hand couldn't wrap around England's wrist but that didn't matter. Sealand laughed, relieved that his hope was not just a fool's wish.

"Mr. England!" Sealand laughed, happy to feel England's reassuring hand around his wrist. A hint of a smile danced across England's face as he turned and gave a mighty tug. England felt a tug back. He turned to see Sealand dangling from his shirt, held up by the foremost fangirl of the mob, the others desperate for any part of Sealand to grab. The hope in Sealand's eyes faded and was replaced with sheer terror as he sank into the mob. "Help me Mr. England!" Sealand cried, his other hand desperately searching for something to hold onto. Time slowed, England watched as Sealand slowly disappeared into the mob. Sealand's lips moved but England didn't hear what was said, he didn't hear anything. Sealand slipped farther into the mob as England's grip loosened. Sealand's hand slid down England's wrist as England's grip let up altogether. The fangirls fell backwards, knocking down row upon row of the other behind them. England turned and sped up; now free of the burden that was Sealand. As he rounded the corner he saw Latvia, America, and Russia, the squealing growing louder behind them. England caught up with then as they turned a corner into a large high ceilinged room. The squeals from the fan girls echoed throughout the emptiness, panicking the countries even more and turning the room into a hellish cacophony. A light shone out in the darkness, a door located halfway between then and the far side of the room. As the countries approached the door, a fresh wave of sound erupted from the faux ticket to freedom.

"They're blocking us off!" England gasped.

"We won't make it past!" Latvia exclaimed.

"I'll stop them." Russia growled, pushing his way past England and America.

"Hey that's my line!" America angrily objected.

"No Russia, you can't do it!" Latvia cried weaving through the others trying to reach Russia. The fangirls rounded the corner and were standing in the light filled doorway as more burst from the door they came through. Latvia put his hand on Russia's shoulder. "You can't do it! Your life isn't worth it!" he cried his eyes tearing up. Russia turned and met Latvia's fearful eyes, putting his hand on Latvia's.

"Latvia." Russia said tenderly, his violet eyes sparkling. "You mean so much more to me than you know."

"Russia." Latvia breathed, a tear running down his cheek.

"I would never do something as cruel as make you worry." Russia continued, putting his other hand on Latvia's arm. The fangirls started to converge on the countries, their squeals turning to giggles. Russia's hands tightened around Latvia's arm as Russia swung him around and launched him at the mob. Latvia knocked the fangirls down and pushed them back into the doorway effectively forming a makeshift dam. The fangirls burst through the dam and shot out the doorway, only to find the objects of their lust hastily exiting the room. The countries flew out the door and into the outside, the light bathing them in warmth.

"Is there anything that can describe this feeling?" England joyously shouted, locking the fangirls in the building and running down to the street to hail a cab.

"1776" America coughed quietly. All of a sudden fangirls came streaming out of every nook and cranny of the block rushing for the countries just as a cab pulled up.

"Get us out of now!" England screamed at the driver as he hopped into the car followed by America.

"Russia, get in!" America called as Russia stood just out of the cab staring. Then there was what seemed to be a stifled sneeze as the driver threw back their head, their cap falling off to reveal a long head of hair. Russia jumped in the cab and punched the driver, sending her and the driver side door skidding across the street. Russia jumped into the driver's seat and stepped on the gas muttering

"Let's see what this can do.

"Oh bloody hell, when will this end?" England sighed slumping in his seat as Russia accelerated down the road, away from the sea of fangirls that futilely followed them.


	3. Chapter 3: The Song of the Crickets

Chapter 3: The Song of the Crickets

Italy sped through the halls, his chest heaving as he tried to sustain his speed. Away from the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the doors, that small lines between the tiles on the floor. He ran from fear. Fangirls snatched at the edge of his vision. Their eyes brimming with lust, mouths barely containing their excitement as they reached out with their horrible claws for just the tiniest snatch of him. The tiniest bit of clothing, just a touch, just a feel, just a taste. Whether they were real or imaginary he knew not, nor did it matter. Hall upon hall he dashed down, his feet slapping the ground propelling him faster and faster. Yet he moved closer and closer to his limit. His feet hit the floor faster and he stumbled as his body failed to accelerate. Each stumbling step felt like a blow to the soul. The cacophony of giggles made by the fangirls sounded behind him as he desperately tried to go faster. The whole building seemed to rumble as a wave of fangirls rolled down the hall toward him. Italy chanced a look back only to see the fangirls crashing down the hall, stumbling over one another. His feet went faster and faster as he clenched his fists, streaking his sweaty palms. His body felt light, though he moved with such vigor he felt as though his body moved independent of his mind. If only he could fade away from this world he thought sorrowfully. If only he had nothing to worry about, to live without a care in the world. The thought pained him, for he knew it was never to happen. His curl whipped back and forth as, with a heavy heart and saddened eyes he imagined what could be. In his world he was light as a feather, lighter even. There he picked ready to eat pasta off trees and was lulled to sleep every night by the crickets as he lay under the stars. His eyes filled with tears as his illusionary world faded only to be replaced by harsh reality. "No." Italy breathed. "This isn't real. I'm still lying under the stars" he heard the song of the crickets, a song that seemed to have no exact form, blowing here and there like the wind with neither end nor beginning. But one thing was certain. It was a song of memories. The one played as you gently trickled off to sleep. The one that played as you leaned against the window of the car as it drove off down the road. The one that played as you waited for the future eager to get to that place perfect for you, yet never did you lust for it because you had your memories inside you. It was that song that the crickets played. But reality had too firm a grip. It pieced his fake world and drove its steely blade through the heart his fantasy, ceasing the cricket's song. He stumbled as he regained control of his body. But for the first time, Italy did not want to run away. This life was not worth living. It had been one big nightmare from the beginning, always being picked on and fought over as a prize to be won. He didn't actually have anyone who cared about him. Here he was running for his life, not a soul coming to help. He thought of Germany who once stood by him who was probably fleeing the building now. A sad smile crossed his he gave into the demands of his body. He quit the only fight he ever fought in his life. He quit running. No longer did his feet slap the floor to escape the fangirls, no longer did he try to escape them, and no longer did he fight it. His legs stopped running and he fell forward, tears flowing from his somber eyes. His eyes slowly shut leaving behind a trail of tears in the air. The fangirls washed over Italy, their lustful grabs feeling like smooth caresses, the song of the cricket playing as he slowly fell into sleep.


End file.
